Higgins is gone, taking both his pianos.
Sped the vans. The first detour untuned the strings.
The brash, self-important brick of the college,
Something of Mozart’s for his pupils, the birds.
His eccentric attack, lacking a teacher?
There is no music now in all Arkansas.
Even while you sit there, unmovable,
It is not sad, really, only empty.
Your type of beauty has no place here.
You neither can nor should understand what it means.
Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.
O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!